


a little spy hospitality

by confusedpups



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:25:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedpups/pseuds/confusedpups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond shows up to Q's flat when he learns the young Quartermaster has caught the common cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little spy hospitality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reyanehokkain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyanehokkain/gifts).



> I wrote this as a birthday gift for Chris. Because who doesn't like a sick and even more bitterly snarky and witty Q?

Bond walks into headquarters with a smile and a pep in his step.  It’s raining outside, the light inviting kind that leaves raindrops dancing along the skin.  Bond strides across the pavement until the awning in front the door fully covers him.  He lowers the umbrella, swiftly closing it and shakes the water off.  He smooths a hand over his suit, before walking through the door.  

 

“Good morning.” He nods towards the main desk, his upper lip curving at the corners into a smile.  Heading straight for the elevator, he takes a sip of his coffee, the steaming bitter drink smoothly flowing down his throat.  He taps his foot as the elevator makes its way to the ninth floor, Q’s headquarters.  He glances around at the art on the walls as he makes his way down the long narrow hall that opens up to headquarters, a large room outfitted with the latest in MI6 technology.

 

“Where’s Q?” His brow furrows as he looks around headquarters, the computer analysts typing away frantically at their desks.  

 

“Out sick for the day.” One quickly blurts out, not even looking up from his monitor.    

 

Bond frowns, slumping his shoulders in disappointment.  Spinning back around, he walks down the long hall to the elevator.  On the way down, he ponders what type of soup Q would prefer.  As the elevator arrives at the lobby with a ding, he decides Q is a tomato basil type of guy.  Opening up his umbrella, he wanders back out into the busy streets of London, heading towards his favorite cafe, just three blocks from MI-6.

 

***

 

As Bond walks into the small cafe, his senses open up at the hearty aroma of the restaurant.  Angelo smiles at him from behind the cashier and he gives a curt nod back, stepping in line to order.  Tapping his foot to the rhythm of the song playing in the cafe, Bond ponders and anticipates how Q will react, the quirk of his lips into a light smile, possibly the rolling of his eyes at his offering of soup.  He’s grinning to himself at the thought when Angelo greets him at the counter.

 

“Good morning, Jim.”

 

“Morning, Angelo.” Bond said, dragging out the ‘o’.  “I’ll have a bowl of tomato basil and a pastry to go.”

 

“Which pastry?” The cashier walked around the counter, packaging up the bowl of soup.

 

“Oh, surprise me.” James put on a playful smile.  “And add a large coffee.”

 

When Angelo returned to the cashier machine, Bond handed over the money and snatched the bag swiftly, nodding curtly. “Keep the change!” He shouted on the way out, rushing back out into the rainy, bustling street.

 

***

 

Finishing humming a song in his head, Bond stops in front of the door going up to Q’s loft, wiping his polished shoes on the mat and slicking a hand through his damp hair.  

 

He makes his way up the stairs, his wet shoes clanking with the metal stairs.  

 

_Knock._ “Room service!” Bond sings out in a high pitched tone.

 

“Oh my- you have _got_ to be kidding me.” Q rolls his eyes, covering his face with a pillow.

 

“Room service!” Bond sings, going up to an even higher pitch.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake- Bond, not the time.” He turns over, pulling the duvet over his shoulders.

 

Bond gives the door impatiently.  “Let me in!”

 

“I’m not getting out of bed, you want in, find your own way in.” Q mumbles, the pillow muffling most of the sound.

 

James looks around, dazed. “How can I hack this bloody security system, that’s _your_ job!”  He crosses his arms in defiance juvenilely, as if Q can see his childish protest despite the door acting as barrier.

 

“You’re MI-6, I’m sure you can get creative.” Q flips over, groaning at the soreness of his body.

 

Bond’s eyes widen at the groan, raising his eyebrows.  “Jesus Christ, what are you doing in there?  I thought you were sick!”

 

“Not that!  Get your mind out of the gutter.  My body aches.”  Q can’t help but roll his eyes.  Again.

 

“I bet it does.” James smirks, lips curling upwards into a sultry smile.

 

“Oh, shut up, James.” Q sighs, before spiraling into a cough attack.  “Oh god, my lungs are being scorched by the ninth pit of hell.” He mutters, bringing a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm his breathing.  

 

Bond furrows his brow in concern.  “Alright, let me in or speak me through hacking this goddamn thing.”  He stares down at the security panel touch screen outside the door in frustration.  

 

“Fine.” Q mumbles as he rolls over, tumbling towards the side of his bed, reaching an arm out, grabbing around the side table for his cell phone. Typing in the passcode, he unlocks the phone and blindly taps the phone a few times.  “It’s disabled.  You should be good.”   

 

Bond lightly taps a finger to the door handle, wary of any surprises.  He finally walks into the loft, food and drink in hand. “You really need to program my hand into your security system, that was ridiculous.”

 

“Uh...no.  Why are you even here?” Q props his head up on a pillow against the headboard, pulling the sheets up to cover his bare chest, but not before Bond catches a glimpse of a naked shoulder and jutting collarbone.

 

“Sleep naked, do we?” James winks, making his way across the room into the kitchen, finding Q’s stash of teas.

 

“No, I broke into a sweat during the night.  You never answered my question.”  He quirks an eyebrow, wondering what the hell Bond is doing prancing around his kitchen.

 

“I brought you food.  And now I’m making tea.  You’re sick.  Never heard of hospitality?”  He picks some Earl Grey off the shelf, walking to the sink to fill the pot with water.

 

“Not since when I-...not in a long time.” Q closes his lips tightly and winces, fear flashing through his eyes at a painful and disturbing memory.  “What did you get?” He asks, interrupting Bond’s processing of the statement, changing subjects.

 

James frowns to himself at the aversion, but doesn’t comment. “You will see in a moment.” He grabs the hot soup out of the bag, and reaches for the cabinet, searching for a bowl.  He hums quietly as he pours the soup into the bowl.  The boiling water whistles on cue.  He pours the water into the teapot, and swiftly grabs the bowl and a spoon and heads back towards the bed.

 

“I present to the Quartermaster, tomato basil soup.” Bond smiles, handing the bowl to Q, who makes a move to sit up in bed.

 

“You really didn’t have to do this, Bond, I can take care of my-...” He starts before abruptly stopping with a hum of delight at the fresh soup.  “How’d you know?”

 

“I’m pretty good at reading people, it’s kind of in the job description.” Bond smirks, and brings a cup of tea over from the kitchen, placing it on the side table and plops down on the mattress, near the foot of the bed.

 

“Of course.” Q mumbles, swearing in his mind that rolling his eyes this far back is going to cause his eyes damage.

 

Bond walks around the loft in silence, inspecting the various pieces of art on the wall, each piece having a very industrial and modernist quality.  His eyes glance over plates of metal, a tin clock, and stops on one particular piece that has several microchips embedded into its design.

 

“Bond, we can’t can’t keep doing this, you know.” Q says very matter of factly after a deep sigh from hot a sip of tea soothing his throat.

 

“What do you mean?”  Bond mutters plainly, staring at the piece of metal artwork on the wall ahead.

 

“James, look at me.” Q demands stiffly, before hacking a cough into the crook of his shoulder. Bond averts his gaze from the tin masterpiece to Q, briefly staring at his sharp collarbones before locking eyes with him.  “This.” Q makes a gesture with his hands between him and the spy.  “Us.  Unstably being a thing.  You gaze longingly at me all day and then occasionally ‘bump’ into me after work and it ends in casual sex.  And now you’re here, being all caring and tender, like we’ve been dating for months.”

 

Bond stares at him blankly for a few moments, before slowly nodding in apprehension.  “I like what we have.  I-I wasn’t sure if you wanted more, an actual relationship, or not.  That would complicate things.”

 

“Oh.” Q says softly, blowing a strand of hair out from in front of his face. “Well, I like what we have too.” He agreed lightly, a gentle smile playing across his features.

 

Bond’s eyes lit up with a certain happiness, the light blue shining radiantly.  “What do you want to do?”

 

Q sighs, at a stand still for what to say.  “How about what feels comfortable and natural?  I don’t wanna overthink this.”

 

“Works for me.” Bond stops, in pondering thought, before starting to walk around the bed. “And what feels natural to me is cuddling you.” He climbs on the bed, rolling over to rest against Q’s back.

 

“Are you serious right now?” Q yelps out incredulously.

 

“What do you have against cuddling?  I’m very confident in my masculinity, mind you.” Bond reaches a hand to Q’s chest, running fingers soothingly over his bare torso.

 

“Aaack!” Q shrieks, his his body twitching away from Bond’s hand jerkily.

 

“What?!” Bond immediately tosses his hands up in the air, eyes wide in both confusion and concern.

 

“You’re hands are cold as bloody ice!” Q shouts like a maniac, eyes darting around.

 

Bond frowns with deep concern.  “You must be really hot.  What’s your temperature?”

 

Looking down at his shaking hands, he mumbles, “I haven’t checked it.”

 

Bond rolls off the bed without a word to search for a thermometer.  Q sighs, and lets out a chuckle as James fumbles through his kitchen.  “Drawer just below the fruit basket.”

 

“Aha!” Bond returns to the bed, climbing over to settle on his knees next to Q. “Under the tong-” he begins to demand when Q opens his mouth with an annoyed and childish ‘ahhh’ for emphasis.  He sticks the thermometer under his tongue, holding it until Q presses his lips together.  

 

Bond hums lightly until it beeps, when Q promptly spits it out of his mouth.  He picks it up, reading the mark.  “38.9C.  You need some aspirin and some rest.” He hops off the bed, wondering over to the medicine cabinet. Selecting the generic aspirin, he pops a couple into his palm and retreats to the bedroom.

 

Q grabs the pills and pops them in his mouth, swallowing them dry.  Bond squints at how naturally he seems to swallow the pills, but decides to drop it and not press him.  “Time for bed,” he states, climbing back under the sheets with Q. He allows himself to get comfortable, resting his arms behind his head.

 

Q naturally cuddles against him, his curly hair resting again Bond’s soft dress shirt.  “Say something cheesy and I will implant a computer chip in you in your sleep and slowly murder you.” He mutters out, voice fading and finishing the sentence with a sleepy yawn.

  
“Sexy.” Bond smirks, looking down at Q as he drifts into a restful sleep.    


End file.
